I Lived Like I Was in a Hallmark Christmas Movie for a Week

I woke up to a whisper on my second Christmas. "Come with me, you have to see this!" my mother urged as she gently pulled me from my bed. "Shh!" she warned while we tiptoed down the stairs to see Santa placing presents beneath the stockings that hung for me and her. At this point, I'd heard all the stories about the jolly man in the red suit who makes wishes come true, but I couldn't believe that I was really seeing him with my bleary eyes. He'd actually bothered to stop at my house, and we didn't even have a chimney! (Spoiler alert: It was my uncle.)

That was my first "Hallmark Christmas movie moment." The one that officially cemented my love of the inexplicably magical holiday.

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Even years later, when I found the hot pink bean bag chair I asked Santa for hidden away in my mom's closet, my spirits weren't dampened. In fact, they were emboldened. When I saw the chair appear by the tree the next morning, wrapped in special paper "from the North Pole," I had a new appreciation for Christmas and my single mother who managed to keep the sorcery alive for a girl who was old enough to question the logistics of how Santa's sleigh could go 650 miles per second.

Today, my mom and I still uphold a tradition that involves me writing a letter to Santa on Christmas Eve about all the things I'm grateful for, while my mom nibbles on the cookies I leave. She then responds with a note from him, just like she's done since well before I could decipher her handwriting. Besides the new PJs I always get, this is my favorite holiday tradition.

But otherwise, nothing notable ever happens to me on Christmas. Gifts are exchanged, my Italian family tries to force scungilli on me, and there's usually some squabbling until someone suggests we go to look at the neighborhood's decorations to diffuse tension.

It's not the day itself that gets me, though. It's the season leading up to the 25th that fills me with unbridled cheer and an uncanny desire to surround myself with twinkle lights.

This year, with all the inescapably awful headlines monopolizing my newsfeed, it's been harder to stay focused on glittery gift wrap. I've found myself wanting to move to the North Pole, and not necessarily for festive reasons. Which is why, more than ever, I've turned to the Hallmark channel to lift my spirits.

(Here I am peering wistfully through a fake window a la Danica McKellar, just so you can see how sad I really am.)

I started revisiting the classics (looking at you, Snow Bride) as soon as the turkey was cleared back in November. But even Candace Cameron Bure couldn't pull me out of my Christmas coma (coming to Movies and Mysteries in 2019!). So I decided it was time to do something bigger than simply watching Hallmark Christmas movies. I was going to fully embrace living like I was actually in a Hallmark Christmas movie.

To begin, she recommended I listen to Christmas music, which she personally starts doing the day after Halloween. Then she insisted, "You must bake something."

My culinary skills can be best described as non-existent, so I didn't have high expectations when I geared up to replicate Lacey's role in The Sweetest Christmas.

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(Actual footage of me baking.)

My pitiful gingerbread house construction wouldn't stay up long enough for me to snap a picture. However, if I was actually a cooking school grad with a heart of gold and a boo who owns the only 5-star restaurant in town yet can somehow spare oven space, I would have not only made a gingerbread house—I would have built an elaborate gingerbread ship.

300 hours of work (or roughly 200 Hallmark Christmas movies) went into this massive gingerbread ship at the Ritz-Carlton, Sarasota.

Ritz-Carlton, Sarasota

And here's what a snowy village made entirely of chocolate would have looked like if I attempted to make that too:

Edible village at the Four Seasons Resort in Orlando.

After admitting defeat, I forced my husband, Ben, to flirtatiously wipe rogue frosting off my cheek while giving me a look that says, "If you weren't engaged to a greedy real estate mogul, determined to drain the soul from this 247-person town, I'd be giving you a closed-mouth kiss right now."

Hallmark Channel

And then he continued to seductively search my chin for crumbs.

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Next, Lacey suggested that to get into character, I take a long walk on a beautifully snowy street.

Done.

And, done.

Then, Lacey instructed me to erupt into a fit of giggles while getting into a spontaneous snowball fight (I editorialized the last bit, but she did say that a snowball fight was mandatory for full Hallmark Christmas movie immersion.)

So, I found a random kid and started slamming him with snowballs, so that any potential suitors watching me would know that I have a playful side.

I also made snow angels because I'm super chill and delight in walking around in wet coats.

Finally, I recruited some pals to help me fashion a dapper snowdude because I had a few minutes to kill between stringing popcorn and my shopping montage.

Not bad, huh?

Hallmark Channel / Northpole

Then I figured I'd check two plot points off my list by seeking out some more snow in an idyllic New England town.

(Town not to scale.)

Once settled in Cookie Jar, err, Chester, Vermont—where 2008's Moonlight and Mistletoe was filmed—I bee-lined to a farm so I could engage in the famous "city fish out of water" hijinks. In this case, the plot involves a New York gal with a fast-paced media gig and no time for holiday frivolity until she finds herself in a rural village teeming with livestock.

Here I am tending to important farm work:

If I was going completely method, I would have also negotiated the terms of the inn my grandmother left me that I planned to level and sell off to the highest bidder (to steal a plot from Christmas Land).

Hallmark Channel

Then, over many conversations in the cold, I'd fall in love with the winsome groundskeeper of Granny's inn (who also happens to be Ivy League educated, because of course).

At the town's wishing wall, we'd say a non-denominational prayer that our lust would last 'til New Year's Eve.

After 67 minutes, I'd realize my corporate job could never make me as happy as his dimples, the barn animals, and the joy the inn brings to the locals, so I'd quit work and we'd make babies in time for the sequel.

And, because no Hallmark movie would be complete without obvious product placement, the sequel will be brought to you by Chevrolet Equinox—a family-friendly roadster with tons of cargo space, perfect for storing last year's decorations.

After successfully nailing the whole cosmopolitan girl-finds-provincial-pleasures shtick, it was time to up the ante. I was going to attempt to do what few Hallmark heroines have done before me: go from commoner to royalty.

Despite succeeding in the time-honored A Royal Christmas, Lacey didn't have much advice for me in this department. So, I studied up on Crown for Christmas—and realized that it would be challenging for me to get hired and then fired from a job as a maid at a ritzy hotel.

Sadly, this didn't lead to a chance encounter with a king's consigliere, so I did the next best thing. I hopped a flight to Disney World to network with some folks who could actually introduce me to a queen (even if it was just Queen Elsa).

Hallmark Channel

After a sales girl at the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique anointed me with pixie dust, I consulted with Princess Ariel about the best way to take up residence in a castle.

She didn't have the answer to that pressing question, but she did tell Ben that that the secret to a happy marriage is taking lots of moonlit boat rides. Noted.

Though I failed to ascend to the throne, as the Hallmark experiment rolled on, I started to feel that intangible Christmas tickle return.

As soon as I got back to New York, I took a carriage ride over to a nearby tree lot (because if Hallmark movies have taught me anything, it's that horse is the most convenient mode of transportation).

After watching Fir Crazy, I felt qualified to run a tree biz myself, so I casually chatted up customers, using words like "balsam" and "scotch pine," while attempting to distribute candy canes to kids who've clearly been cautioned not to speak with over-eager strangers. Then I broke into the lot's Airstream to warm up. Selling trees is no joke.

Now, no Hallmark Christmas movie character transformation would be complete without a hug from an unassuming mall Santa who possesses supernatural powers. Fortified on two eggnog lattes, I stood in line behind droves of children asking for Hatchimals, waiting my turn.

I was tempted to lecture the tykes about how the real meaning of Christmas shouldn't be confused with consumerism, but I figured I'd leave that to the big guy.

When I made it to the front of the line, I was worried I'd crush the poor elderly fellow because I weigh a tad more than the six-year-old who took a knee before me (plus, to get into character, I'd been hitting the figgy pudding pretty hard), but old St. Nick assured me that he could handle it.

Hallmark Channel / Northpole

Unlike the little ones, Santa didn't bother asking me what I wanted for Christmas. I think he already knew. He could tell that my one and only wish was to once again feel the warmth that used to permeate the season.

One of the most common Hallmark Christmas movie endings involves a character's spirit being reignited. Sometimes that's by a wise townie saying just the right thing, an ice sculpture competition that reminds her of her worth, or simply by meeting a divorcee who adores Christmas just because.

I think Lacey put it best when she described her favorite thing about the holiday: "I love knowing what's coming." For me, it's no longer the promise of a bean bag chair, or a visit from my uncle dressed up in Santa's fluffy red coat. It's knowing that with December comes hope, an excuse to drink cocoa, and yes, a new lineup of Hallmark Christmas movies to revive even the most cynical of souls.

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